


Warmth

by lavagay



Series: Warmth [1]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Agoraphobia, Brief Instances of Sexual Content, Canonical Underage, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Depression, Gay Panic, Gratuitous Swearing, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Postpartum Depression, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Canonical Character, The F Slur, Trigger Warnings Included, Underage Drinking, homophobic parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavagay/pseuds/lavagay
Summary: There, in that instant, his best friend, his only friend, had him entirely vulnerable, and all he felt was.... warmth.They don’t actually have sex but if you ask me to I might be compelled to write a sex scene





	1. And All That Gay Shit

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a mind of its own. It started light-hearted, but goes into some pretty dark places as it tries to reconcile Warren's underdeveloped backstory. While it was intended to be some cute boys bein cute boys, it got a lot deeper than that. I'm sorry if it makes you feel things.

It was the beginning of sophomore year, and the Epic Bromance of Will Stronghold and Warren Peace was in full force. Layla and Will had amicably parted ways over the summer, agreeing to sever their short-lived romantic relationship in favor of their lifelong platonic friendship. When asked why, both refused to comment with anything beyond, "we're just better off friends," "it didn't work out," or even, "it's whatever." The gang of sidekicks gave up quickly when they decided their efforts to drag out the info were futile, but Warren, though not usually one to meddle in such frivolous affairs, obstinately refused to stop prying. So one night, while laying out on the roof of the Stronghold residence, staring out at the expansive night sky, Warren casually asks, "truth or dare?"

"What? Um, truth, I guess?" Will answers, carefully avoiding the creative and humiliating dares he feared Warren's devilish mind could conjure.

"Why did you really break up with Veggie Tales?"

"Oh, fuck off."

"C'mon, there's something you're not telling me."

"I said fuck off, Hothead."

"You're my best friend, Stronghold! Aren't we supposed to like, have heart-to-hearts and all that gay shit?"

Will fumed.

"Fuck you, Warren. Go home."

 

Keeping consistent with the dramatic, exaggerated arrogance that is characteristic of any Stronghold, Will descended quickly down from the roof and sauntered into his house, slamming the door behind him and leaving Warren stranded on the rooftop.

The next morning at school, Will was distant and cold. It was unsettling to Warren, who had become accustomed to the welcoming warmth of his best friend by his side. Warren knew he fucked up, but he didn't understand the extent of it. What had he done? Was asking about Will's failed relationship enough to destroy the friendship they'd forged over the past year?

The distance only grew as the week went on. Will's angst was quiet, but overwhelming to Warren, whose understanding of social cues was in its infancy. He was unpracticed in the art of dealing with people, after all, Will was the only person he deemed worthy of dealing with. Still, though he craved the attention of his newly-estranged best friend, the hotheaded anti-hero was far too stubborn to wave the white flag. So, he stealthily concealed the conflicted emotions brewing in his gut. That is, until gym class, where it all came to a head.

"Save the citizen," boomed Coach Boomer, boomily. "Stronghold! Our reigning champ. Partnering with Peace, I assume?"

"Actually, Coach, not this time," Will answered, making direct eye contact with Warren in the bleachers.

"Oh? Well, pick a partner, son. I haven't got all day."

"Freeze Girl." The crowd was incredulous, gasps and whispers erupting in a hushed roar. The sophomore hero was pretty, with long, blonde hair. Isadora Eisner was a new up-and-comer at Sky High, famed for her impeccable ice-bending skills. She wasn't practiced, but she had a great deal of potential, and most importantly, she was the polar opposite of Warren Peace. They were exactly dissimilar in a way that would make them perfect rivals. Plus, it'd drive Warren crazy, which is honestly exactly what Will was going for.

No one was surprised when Stronghold and his new teammate chose to be the heroes. The muttered conversations stagnated, only to explode once again when Will challenged his very best friend to step up and play the villain.

Warren partnered with a perky wonder-woman-type named Wanda, the perfect parallel to Will Stronghold, because two can play at that game.

"Bring it on, Wonder Bread," Warren taunted Will, glowering as a controlled, blue flame spread from his fingertips to his shoulders and engulfed his upper body in a sweltering blaze. Isadora perfectly mirrored his motions, spreading her arms in Warren's same intimidating pose. But, as Warren's tan muscles burned, Isadora's meek little arms grew thick and sturdy with armor made of ice. As if choreographed, the two teen heroes lunged at each other, one throwing fire, the other ice. Realizing they were at a stalemate, Warren focused his attention on the real threat, and threw a fireball in Will's direction.

Wonder-Wanda actually turned out to be a pretty fair opponent for Stronghold. Or, for the very distracted, totally off-his-game version of himself he had been lately.

"Save me!" cried the dummy, dangling over the deadly spikes in the middle of the area. If he was being honest, most of the time Will ignored the girl until the very last minute. You know, for dramatic effect. It would be boring to just, like, fly across and save her right away. It's not like she's real.

"Save me!"

Tensions rose  when Isadora moved to attack Wanda and Will gave his full attention to his (former?) best friend.

"Save me!"

 

Their fight was intense. Warren truly was the only person at Sky High who could put up a good fight against Will at full strength. He showed off some pretty stellar moves. Will admired his creativity. While the Strongholds were reliable in their victories, they were often criticized for being one-trick ponies. Flying. Throwing things. Punchin real hard. Warren was impressive. He had really grown into his powers; he could build towering walls of fire, shoot controlled flames like bullets from his fingertips, even make sparks fly like fireworks over the whole arena. With the cunning and strength of a villain paired with the kindness and integrity of a hero, Warren was a truly impressive specimen. He was, for lack of a better word, like, super hot.

But in the end, Will always had the upper hand, and he showed it by grabbing his fiery foe by the neck and lifting him from the ground as he hovered.

"Save me!"

"Any last words, Warren?" Smug bastard. Fucking Strongholds.

Warren paused, struggling to breath. As he asphyxiated, he contemplated the truly formidable force that is Will Stronghold. His body, though small, was so, so powerful. He marveled at the brute strength of his body― shivered at the intense feeling he ignites in Warren. There, in that instant, his best friend, his only friend, had him entirely vulnerable, and all he felt was.... warmth.

Barely a second had passed before Warren answered.

"I love you."

Will's jaw dropped and his strong hold loosened, leaving Warren to fall and flounder on the padded floor of the arena.

And for the first time, Will failed to save the citizen.


	2. What Makes A Hero?

****At lunchtime, Warren sat alone at the opposite side of the lunchroom from Will, who was being bombarded with questions from his friends.

“What the fuck happened back there, Will?” Magenta pried.

“Yeah, man, what did he say?” from Zach.

“Nothing. He’s just a jerk,” said Will. His phone pinged.

Layla [11:47AM]: What did W say?

Will looked up and across the table at Layla, who jerkily motioned toward his phone with her head and eyes, indicating that he should text her back privately. He rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.

Layla [11:48AM]: Come on. You broke up with me for him. I’m invested now.

Will looked up at her, frustrated. She implored with her eyes before texting once more.

Layla [11:48AM]: What could he have possibly said to make THE William Stronghold lose save the citizen.

Will [11:50AM]: fuck u.

Layla [11:51AM]: And here I thought we broke up because you DIDN’T want that.

Will [11:52AM]: funny.

Will [11:52AM]: it doesn’t matter what he said. he made it very clear that he doesnt care abt my feelings.

“I’ll see you on the bus,” announced Will to the whole table, getting up and walking away. At this point, Layla decided she wasn’t getting anything from Will. So she’d have to go elsewhere for the dish.

 

Layla [11:55AM]: What did you say to Will?

Warren [11:59AM]: ?

Layla [12:00PM]: You said something. To Will. During StC. Everyone’s speculating how you made him lose. What did you say?

Warren [12:03PM]: Why don’t you ask Captain America himself?

Layla [12:03PM]: Will won’t answer me. Said you “made it very clear you don’t care about his feelings”

Layla [12:05]: ?

Warren [12:10PM]: ????

Layla [12:10PM]: Well??? What did you say????

Warren [12:15PM]: Fuck he’s a dumbass.

Layla [12:15PM]: That doesn’t help.

Layla [12:16PM]: Warren? What did you say?

Layla [12:30PM]: Fine. Don’t tell me.

  


After lunch, Will and Warren had Intro to Ethics with Ms. Hassard, a quirky 30-something mommy-type with mind reading powers and a passionate desire to make the world a better place.

Written on the board in loose cursive penmanship was a question.

“What makes a hero?” the teacher enunciated.

Warren rolled his eyes, anticipating a long lecture about how superpowers don’t make you a superhero. He knew that damn well. His parents were living proof. His dad, a super-strong pyrokinetic (a lot like Warren, plus an ego the size of all the buildings he’s burnt down combined), and his mom, with air bending powers, driven manic-depressive and agoraphobic by her husband’s incarceration. They weren’t heroes and neither was he. Not like Will.

Warren tuned out the peanut-gallery answers from his peers, stewing in his own super-angst until Will’s voice broke him out of his own head.

“The desire to do good,” he answered.

“Yes, Will! Superpowers do not a hero make, my friends! A hero is anyone, powered or not, who fights to make the world a better place.”

Warren looked at Will, who wasn’t looking. He looked away.

Will looked at Warren, who wasn’t looking. He looked away.

“Which,” Hassard continued, “brings me to your assignment due tomorrow.” Groans from the peanut gallery. “You will write 1 page, double spaced, all about your hero. Warren, could you be a dear and hand out these papers?” The class laughed.

“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Hassard?” asked a laughing voice from the back of the class.

“I don’t see why not. Could you, Warren?”

“Sure.” Warren was kind of pleased that she asked him. After all, it’s not like he couldn’t control himself enough to safely pass out papers without setting them on fire. It was nice to have her believe in him, even for the smallest of things. He wasn’t pleased, however, that he’d have to walk by Will, who had chosen a desk on the other side of the room to avoid him.

As he approached his friend, he had to be very careful not to set the pile of papers on fire (accidentally or otherwise), but he managed to successfully avoid eye contact as he handed him his rubric. The tension, however, was still palpable throughout the room, even as they refused to acknowledge each other.

It was gonna be a long, long fight.

 

 


	3. My Hero, Will Stronghold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren reads his hero essay. Well, most of it.

The next day, Warren and Will ignored each other. That is, until sixth period Ethics. Sixth period Ethics was a nightmare.

“Now, I would love to hear all about your heroes! Who’s ready to present?”

 _Present?!_ Warren screamed internally. His writing was much too personal to present. He sunk down in his seat and set out to make quick revisions that would hopefully protect his reputation, or at least his dignity. There wasn’t much he could do, and soon enough, she called on him.

“Peace, you sure look excited. You’re up!”  

“Pass.”

“I’ll have to give you a zero for the entire paper if you refuse.”

 _Damn,_ Warren thought, _maybe I’ll “accidentally” burn it._

“You do know I’m a telepath, don’t you, Warren?”

_Fuck._

“Watch your language, son. Now read your paper.”

Warren shuffled reluctantly up to the front of the room and began to read.

 

“My Hero, Will Stronghold”

“Everyone knows that Will Stronghold is a superhero. His mom, Jetstream, his dad, The Commander-- my best friend was destined for greatness. You’ve seen him fly, fight, and save the entire school. But you don’t know him like I do. Will Stronghold may have saved your lives once, but he saves my life every single day. Perhaps his most heroic stunt yet, Will somehow took an angsty pyrokinetic teen and turned him into a hero as well.

“My father was an egomaniacal bastard with super-strength, invulnerability, and the ability to conjure fire on command. You might say I’m his spitting image. I was born out of rage and fire; my body is a weapon designed for utter destruction.

"Believe it or not, I never _wanted_ to be a villain, I just always assumed I was supposed to be. So when I met Will Stronghold, son of the hero who put my father in jail (where I damn well knew he belongs), I set out to destroy him. I fought against him, tried to kill him, yet, miracle of miracles, Will Stronghold became my best friend. And he made me so much better than I was ever supposed to be.

“Will Stronghold showed me that I can be so much more than just fire and heat. I can be warmth. Just like him. Will Stronghold is the greatest superhero that ever lived.” The class was silent.

Warren looked down and abashedly shoved his paper in Mrs. Hassard’s direction. She looked it over, impressed, and asked, “don’t you want to read this last line?”

“Um. No. That’s… that’s crossed out.”

“Whatever you say. That was very impressive, Mr. Peace.”

The bell rang.


	4. Even more of that gay shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-heavy angsty teen boy melodrama? That's good shit

They both know they needed to talk, so when Will followed Warren out of the building after class, the frustrated older teen lead them to sit on the very edge of campus, their feet dangling dangerously over the sky high cliff, way above the clouds. (It was kind of romantic, in a death-defying, almost suicidal way). For a while they stewed in silence, Warren twiddling his thumbs, Will sipping water distantly from his Nalgene. Eventually, Will spoke up.   
“You’re a poet,” he said, awkwardly.    
“If you say you didn't even know it, you're toast, Wonder Bread.” For a second, things felt light. Normal, even. It didn't last.    


“What was the last line, if you don't mind my asking?”    
“I do.”    
“Oh.”    
More silence.    
“I didn't know you felt those things,” Will said.   
“Yeah, well.”    
“You're a lot more eloquent on paper”    
“Yeah, well.”   
  
Frustrating silence.   
  
“What was the line, Warren? You're killing me.”    
“Nothing you don't already know.”    
“Then what's the harm in telling me?”    
“Why can't you leave anything alone?”    
“Because we're best friends. We're supposed to have heart-to-hearts, right? And all that gay shit?” Will spat Warren’s own diction back at him with such repulsion it was chilled even the pyrokinetic's core. Will stewed there, squeezing his water bottle so tightly in his tensed hands that it shattered. Warren's eyes closed. He was silent for a moment, until, softly, he spoke.   
"Is that why you're mad at me? Because I'm gay?" Will's jaw dropped at Warren's confession.    
"You're gay?"    
"Isn't that what we're fighting about?"    
"No! Of course not!" Warren thought maybe he should be relieved, but mainly he was just confused. Barely audible, Will added, "I'd be kind of a hypocrite if I was mad at you for that."    
"What?"    
"Nothing."   
" _You're_ gay?" Warren asked, almost too quietly.   
"Yeah, well." Sarcastic bastard.   
"Then what the fuck are we fighting about?"    
"You were messing with me."    
"What?"   
"You said you loved me. Why did you do that?"    
"Because I love you."    
"Stop.... stop saying that."   
"I'm sorry." A pause, far too long. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just... I can't stop, Will. I'll stop saying it. We can forget it, okay? Sit five feet apart and all that 'no homo' bullshit. But I can't stop loving you." Then, quieter, "trust me, I've tried."    
"I don't― I don't believe you!"    
"How much more convincing do you need? I embarrassed the hell out of myself in front of the whole damn class practically confessing my fucking love to you!" Will was crying now and Warren was damn near it.    
"You- you can't love me. That's- that's... Warren, that's too good to be true." With that, Warren rolled his eyes and took out his laptop. Opening his Ethics paper to the end of the page he highlighted a section with his cursor and read aloud, “Will Stronghold showed me that I can be so much more than just heat. I can be warmth. Just like him. Will Stronghold is the greatest superhero that ever lived. And I am madly in love with him."

 


	5. Out On The Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where we finally answer the pressing question, does warren peace ejaculate fire?

“In love with me,” Will repeated, incredulous. Warren grunted affirmatively. “Not like, you love me. Like...” he paused. “You’re in love with me.”

“Looks like, yeah.” 

“Wow.” Warren glared at him, furious that he had nothing more to say than a pathetic “wow,” but he didn’t push. It was fine by him if Stronghold wasn’t in love with him. It had to be. It’s better than losing him altogether. He said nothing, swinging his feet absentmindedly off the edge of the hovering campus, staring at his hands as he conjured gentle flames from his fingertips. Will abruptly broke the silence as he asked, “truth or dare?” 

“What?” Warren’s expression can only be described as the human embodiment of a question mark emoji.

“We never finished our game.” 

“And what makes you think now is the appropriate time to play ‘Truth or Dare’?” 

“I’ve got questions.” 

“So fucking ask me.” 

A moment passed as Will appeared to contemplate how he’d phrase his inquiry. 

“Do you like…” an awkward pause. Then, “do you come fire?” 

“What?! Do I  _ come _ fire? I confess my love for you and you ask me if I  _ ejaculate  _ fire?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always wondered.” 

“No, I don’t come fire! I come,  _ come.  _ Why the fuck would I come fire?” Will blushed, leaving Warren to question what was going through the boy’s mind. Was he imagining it?  _ What the fuck.  _

Again, Will was silent and introspective. 

“Could you?” he asked. “Like, if you wanted to?” Warren just rolled his eyes. He went on, clearly nervous, “I mean, you’re pyrokinetic, you know? Do you think, if you really wanted to, you could, like, conjure fire with your…” his eyes trailed down to the zipper of Warren’s jeans. 

“Oh my God.” 

“Sorry! I’m curious!” 

“Real fucking curious, alright. Jesus!” 

Faintly, they heard the bell ring signifying the end of 7th period. 

“We should go back,” said Warren. 

“Or, we could… not go back.” 

“Goody-two-shoes Will Stronghold ditching class? Scandalous!”

“Ha, ha.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know. Your place,” noting the way Warren’s face scrunched up, a cocktail of hesitance and something like disgust, Will went on, “Or my place. Or Amsterdam. Or Tokyo. Anywhere. I can fly.” 

“How romantic,” Warren rolled his eyes. 

Will shifted uncomfortably. They were at a standstill-- Will, too scared to admit aloud that Warren’s feelings were mutual, and Warren, too scared to push the subject any further. What the hell is the protocol when your best friend (who you’re in love with, who you thought was straight and maybe homophobic) confesses his love for you, but you don’t believe him, so he does it again, in front of your whole class, and then he’s weird and stubborn about it? What the hell is the protocol when you confess your love for your best friend (who you thought was straight and maybe homophobic), but he doesn’t believe you, so you do it again, in front of the whole class, and then he’s vague and uncomfortable about it? They were both so far out of their comfort zones. Neither Will-- whose only prior relationships had been a freshman fling with a senior, way out of his league (who turned out to only be interested in stealing The Pacifier and, well, you saw the movie) and a 9 month long “serious” relationship with a girl he never loved like he was supposed to-- nor Warren-- who never had so much as a  _ friend _ before Will came around-- had no idea where to go from here. 

“Can we just like, go somewhere? I don’t want to go back there.”

“Embarrassed?” 

“That the most attractive junior at Sky High, who could get any girl to drop her panties in the janitor’s closet in a heartbeat, called me the greatest superhero that ever lived in front of the whole class? No, I don’t think  _ embarrassed _ is the word.” 

“Only the most attractive junior? Damn, guess I need to step up my game,” Warren smiled that winning smile. You know, the one that could get any girl to drop her panties in the janitor’s closet in a heartbeat.

“God, I hate you,” Will said, but there was no malice in it. “I mean, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone, but God, I hate you.” Warren threw his head back at that, laughing in part because it was funny, but mainly because Will is really cute, and because he was so damn happy to hear that. 

“What are you looking at, Stronghold?” Will hadn’t noticed he’d been staring. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really pretty when you smile?” 

“No, I’m grateful to say I’ve never been called pretty before.” 

“You are. You’re really pretty. Cute, too.” Warren’s face scrunched up in distaste. 

“Exactly what a man wants to hear. Not sexy or handsome or anything. Pretty and cute.” 

“I mean, you’re obviously those things. But everybody  _ knows _ you’re those things. Like, have you  _ seen _ you? You’ve got like, the tall, dark, and handsome thing going on. With the hair, and the tattoos, and the muscles, and the tan…”

“Do you need a cold shower?” As Will snapped out of his spell, he looked like a deer in the headlights. 

“I’m just saying, you’re hot. You could a male model. Or a porn star.” Warren looked both amused and scandalized. Will continued, staring out off the edge of the school, mesmerized by something Warren couldn’t understand, “but when we’re sitting on the couch, and you’re laughing at something stupid I said, or your own joke, or at the TV, or anything, and you do that thing where you head falls back, or maybe forward, and you laugh with your whole body like it hurts, and your eyes get all small and scrunched up, and your dimples show,” he trailed off, seeming to fall out of his trance. He looked down at the fog below his feet, and then back at Warren, at the grass, at the broken water bottle, like he couldn’t handle the intensity of Warren’s gaze, but didn’t know where his eyes were supposed to go. “I don’t know. Maybe pretty’s not the word for it. Maybe there isn’t one. But  _ hot  _ doesn’t even scratch the surface.  _ Warm _ , maybe. Like in your essay.”

“Warm.” 

“Yeah. Like… a blanket that covers your feet just right.” Warren laughed gently, more of an amused exhale than anything. He was captivated by Will’s poetic words, mouth hanging, barely open as he stared in awe or surprise or longing, maybe? It was an emotion that transcended his vocabulary, one that he only ever felt while looking at Will. “Or like... When somebody’s holding your hand and it just… fits… you know?” 

“Actually, no,” Warren answered quietly, trying and failing to appear unaffected. 

“No one’s ever held your hand?” 

“Well, Layla. But I burned her.” 

“If I held your hand, would you burn me?” 

Warren, always one to deflect any profoundly moving emotion with humor, replied, “depends if you’re into that kind of thing.” 

“I normally save the kinky shit for the third date,” joked Will, happy to fall back into their normal pattern of lewd banter.

“Yeah, what do I get on the first date?” Will looked up at him, suddenly nervous as he contemplated the very-real prospect of going on a date with Warren Peace. 

“I guess you’d have to ask me on a date and find out.” 

“Why do I have to do the asking?” 

“‘Cause I’m  _ nervous, _ ” Will admitted, soft and strained with wide puppy dog eyes that reminded Warren how much smaller the younger boy was. He was strong, in more ways than one, and had a confidence about him that sometimes convinced Warren he was untouchable. But in moments like this, when he’s forced to admit that he actually has feelings, Will seems to shrink right in front of his eyes, infantilized like he’s been hit by Royal Pain’s pacifier. Warren didn’t answer. He simply looked down, introspective and longing, at Will’s hand, fisted tight as he tore at the long grass beside himself. He reached out and simply laid his hand on top on the balled fist. 

“So, how do we do this whole hand-holding thing?” Will smiled and adjusted his hand to fit into Warren’s. He scooted closer to lay his head on his best friend’s shoulder. 

_ Yeah _ , Warren thought.  _ Warm _ . 


	6. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get detention and it's angsty as hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Single use of the F Slur, Brief instance of sexual content, instances of sexual harassment 
> 
> Some of the things Warren says could easily be perceived as sexual harassment. Since this could be triggering or uncomfortable for some viewers, I will be including an alternate ending without the sexual content in the endnotes of this chapter. I would advise to skip to the endnote after the asterisk.

 

Will ripped his hand away when he heard footsteps behind him, leaving Warren’s to fall, empty, against the grass. The sound of a voice clearing startled them both. 

“I hate to break up a romantic moment, boys, but isn’t there some place you should be?” the accusatory sardonicism in her voice was cutting. 

“Please don’t tell my dad,” Will let out, stepping away from the other boy with his hands stiff and innocent at his sides.  

“That you skipped class to hang out with your friend?” said Powers, “I most certainly will be telling your father  _ that _ .” Then, after a pause, her expression softened, and with kind eyes and a hand on Will’s tensed shoulder, she added: “and only that.” 

“Thank you,” mouthed Will, doe-eyed and voiceless. 

“I’ve been in your shoes, boys. And in 1967, at that,” she admitted, receiving looks of confusion from both oblivious teens. “My girlfriend and I never skipped class, though.” With that returned the same accusatory tone characteristic of the principal they’d come to know, paired with a raised eyebrow and an unnerving smirk. The boys, with four raised eyebrows between them, nodded in understanding, Warren’s lips parted as a disbelieving breath passed between them, Will’s pressed in a line. They followed behind her, ducks in a row, headed toward the familiar white detention room. 

 

“Well, I only have one power-proof room, so you’ll have to keep your hands to yourself.”

Will blushed, his head falling to look at his hands clasped against his abdomen. Smirking, Warren joked, “we’ll try.” Embarrassed, but without malice, the younger boy slapped Warren’s leather-clad arm with the back of his hand. Warren let out a playful chuckle, whispering an unapologetic “sorry.”

“What he means is ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

Detention was awkward for a while, both teens silently reminiscing on how things had changed since their last stint in this infamous echo chamber of a detention hall. Most notably, the two chairs were far closer together, so close their knees would touch involuntarily. They looked at each other back and forth for awhile, nerves inhibiting their ability to speak. At one point, Warren sought to lay his hand on Will’s knee, but the sophomore flinched and shifted away in his chair. 

“There are cameras.” 

“Cameras only Principal Powers can see. And she knows there’s something going on.” Warren didn’t mean to sound pleading. “But whatever.” 

“When did you become Mr. PDA?” 

“We’re not in public.”

“We were when you read that… love confession paper or whatever.”

“So now you’re mad about that? What the fuck did I miss? Last time I checked you were calling me pretty and telling me to ask you out!” 

“I don’t know. Powers walked in and I… I don’t know.” 

“She’s not gonna tell anybody.” 

“But they’ll  _ know _ .” 

“They’ll know I like you. That’s fine by me. With my piss-poor reputation,  _ fag _ is probably the best thing they can call me.” Warren noted Will’s flinch at his use of the slur and softened his tone as he continued, “but they don’t have to know anything about you. For all they’ll know, I’m just a hopeless gay asshole with a crush on my straight best friend. Hell, if it’ll make you feel better, you can beat me up and call me names for it where everyone can see. Shove me in a damn locker. I won’t fight back. I can take a hit. I’d take a lot worse for you.” Warren automatically regretted what he said, his second extravagant display of epic gay love of the day leaving a sour taste on his tongue. He was never really one to get sappy, or demonstrate any emotion for that matter, but he meant it. He was nothing if not protective, and if Will needed protecting, he’d be there. 

“I’d never hurt you,” insisted Will. 

_ It’d hurt a lot less than this,  _ thought Warren, though he’d never admit such vulnerability. Instead, he lied, “I know.” 

“I want to kiss you.” 

“But you can’t.” Will nodded, tears welling up in his longing eyes. He closed his eyes so tight his lashes seemed to singe the sensitive flesh beneath his lower lids. He laid his hand on Warren’s knee and was met with a cringe all-too-similar to his own reaction not five minutes before. Nonetheless, he gripped tightly, tight enough to bruise. “Ow,” deadpanned Warren. He stood up as to shake him off. Will followed, rising up to pace the floor beside him. 

“So what happens now?”*

 

A moment passes. There is no noise but a breathy sigh. A scalding heat rushes to Warren’s fingertips but the cursed white room gives him no release. He balls his fists, feeling the blood boil beneath his skin, seeking an outlet but never finding one. He felt steam fill his lungs. Infamous for his ability to control fire, here in this room, Warren is overwhelmed by heat. 

“Now,” he begins, stretching out the word in an agonizing whisper. “I wait a month until the handprint on my leg fades,” he lashes out with a characteristic sardonicism. Will rolled his eyes, then stared, unamused, in demand of a serious answer. “And you,” he swallowed, “you go home to your apple-pie life, and say sorry for ditching class, and your parents scold you across the dining room table over a homecooked meal.” Will stood in silence as Warren worked himself into a jealous frenzy. Louder, “you’ll lose one of your cushy fucking privileges for a week or two and you’ll fuss about it, slam your door and get in bed. And then,” he scoffed with a twisted, manic grin, “you’ll jerk off with your pretty little cock in your hand and two, maybe three fingers in your tight, virgin ass thinking about all the fucking dirty things you’d be begging me for if you weren’t such a  **_fucking coward_ ** .” The last two words barked against Will’s skin shook something deep inside him-- terrified him in a profound and unfamiliar way. Warren didn’t know when he got so close to Will, but he found himself pressed against him in a violent and intimidating stance. 

Without thinking, Will spat in Warren’s face. Warren laughed, his countenance a bitter mixture of lasciviousness and spite as he wiped his hand across his face and against his jeans. A beat of silence and then, quietly:  

“That’s not what I want.” 

“Then what the fuck  _ do _ you want?” in his right mind, Warren might have been concerned at the Coach Boomer-level elevation of his voice, but he was far beyond any rational reluctance. 

“I don’t fucking  _ know _ , okay?” It was rare to hear the Stronghold boy swear in any capacity, making his dispirited outcry all the more gutting. “All I know is I’m hard, and sad, and I love you.” Here, Warren’s laugh simulated something real-- not shallow, not mischievous or dark. His expression was something of fondness. His emotions were unstable, too hard for Will to follow. 

“Right. You love me. What are you going to  _ do _ about it?” Will’s eyes fell closed. Suddenly adopting a softness Will had never seen in his best friend, Warren raised his feverish hand to tilt the shorter boy’s chin up toward him. Will kept his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, but Warren’s calloused thumb brushing delicately against his lower lip coaxed him to yield in his stubbornness as he melted into the touch. Slowly, his eyes opened to meet Warren’s. Overwhelmed by the outpour of emotion in the pyrokinetic’s face, Will ripped himself away and distanced himself. “There’s no one else here, Will. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Warren pleaded, speaking to the back of Will’s head.

Will whipped around. “I’m not afraid of anyone seeing us, Warren. I’m afraid of  _ you _ !”

Warren moved to sit back in his seat in silence. Eventually, Will sat down as well. 

They waited to be dismissed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *After the asterisk: 
> 
> A moment passes. There is no noise but a breathy sigh. A scalding heat rushes to Warren’s fingertips but the cursed white room gives him no release. He balls his fists, feeling the blood boil beneath his skin, seeking an outlet but never finding one. He felt steam fill his lungs. Infamous for his ability to control fire, here in this room, Warren is overwhelmed by heat. 
> 
> “Now,” he begins, stretching out the word in an agonizing whisper. “I wait a month until the handprint on my leg fades,” he lashes out with a characteristic sardonicism. Will rolled his eyes, then stared, unamused, in demand of a serious answer. “And you,” he swallowed, “you go home to your apple-pie life, and say sorry for ditching class, and your parents scold you across the dining room table over a homecooked meal.” Will stood in silence as Warren worked himself into a jealous frenzy. Louder, “you’ll lose one of your cushy fucking privileges for a week or two and you’ll fuss about it, slam your door and get in bed."
> 
> [REDACTED SEXUALLY ABUSIVE CONTENT FROM WARREN]
> 
> “I don’t fucking know, okay?” It was rare to hear the Stronghold boy swear in any capacity, making his dispirited outcry all the more gutting. “All I know is I’m confused, and sad, and I love you.” Here, Warren’s laugh simulated something real-- not shallow, not mischievous or dark. His expression was something of fondness. His emotions were unstable, too hard for Will to follow. 
> 
> “Right. You love me. What are you going to do about it?” Will’s eyes fell closed. Suddenly adopting a softness Will had never seen in his best friend, Warren raised his feverish hand to tilt the shorter boy’s chin up toward him. Will kept his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, but Warren’s calloused thumb brushing delicately against his lower lip coaxed him to yield in his stubbornness as he melted into the touch. Slowly, his eyes opened to meet Warren’s. Overwhelmed by the outpour of emotion in the pyrokinetic’s face, Will ripped himself away and distanced himself. “There’s no one else here, Will. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Warren pleaded, speaking to the back of Will’s head.
> 
> Will whipped around. “I’m not afraid of anyone seeing us, Warren. I’m afraid of you!”  
> Warren moved to sit back in his seat in silence. Eventually, Will sat down as well.  
> They waited to be dismissed.


	7. Finally, Some God Damn Warren Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some insight into why Warren Peace is sometimes a douchebag.

When that sweet dismissal finally arrived, the two boys were once again at a stalemate. While students would typically get a ride home from detention with Principal Powers in her invisible jet, the principal was understandably under the impression that Will would be flying Warren home, and they didn’t know how to explain why that couldn’t happen. So, reluctantly, Will asked Warren if he’d prefer that they’d fly home together. 

Warren nodded, aiming toward nonchalance and landing more toward unsteadiness. He was truly shaken by Will’s exclamation. Warren had always found comfort in knowing that, despite everything, Will had grown to understand him on a level deeper than anyone had ever even attempted. His best friend was the only person in his life that wasn’t afraid to get too close to him. And he ruined that. 

His outburst, vulgar and abusive, was rooted in so much internalized hatred and fear of getting too close. In truth, the only intimacy he’d ever known was primal in nature, nameless one-night-stands with older men who never respected him because he never wanted them to. Even mutual respect was a closeness he didn’t believe he deserved. 

Being held by Will, even in a manner as innocent as hitching a ride home, felt too good to be true. Will was the image of beauty and purity in his eyes. Warren held him on a pedestal so high he was unreachable. Nothing short of perfection, Will Stronghold was the very  _ definition _ of too good to be true. He finally had his dream in reach, and he fucked it all up. Such is the life of Warren Peace. 

“So where do you live?” 

“Roseville Neighborhood. On Pike.” 

“That’s not far from me. Why haven’t I been there?” 

“We’ve been through this.”

“Right. Your mom doesn’t like company.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Or, you don’t want her to know you’re friends with the boy whose dad put her husband in jail.”

“Ever consider that something might not be about you?” 

“Fine. Whatever.” Warren sighed, then relented: 

“She knows about you.”

“Really? And what does she say about that?” 

“What does your dad say about me?” Will was silent. 

“That’s fair.”

“That bad, huh?” 

“I didn’t mean--”

“It’s alright,” he interrupted, “I wouldn’t trust me either. Even my best friend’s afraid of me. I’m an unstable teen with daddy issues  _ and _ anger management issues. Plus the whole, conjuring fire with my hands thing. I get it. Can you take me home?” 

“Warren--”

“Take me home.” Will did. 

 

When they touched on the sidewalk in front of 237 Pike, Will pressed his luck one more time. 

“Please, let me come in.”

“What, you’re not afraid I’ll lead you into my sex torture dungeon or something?” 

“C’mon, you know I didn’t mean--” 

“God, Will. You’re all over the damn place.”

“Call the kettle black, much?” 

“Well. You know what you were signing up for.”

“No, I really didn’t.” Warren was silent and pensive. “So, are you going to show me your sex torture dungeon or what?” Will joked. Warren sighed and ruffled his hair playfully and Will scrunched his face up in mock annoyance. It was so commonplace for the two of them, joking and playing like friends. That is, until Warren’s hand slowed in a swift transition from a noogie to something entirely different. He brushed the hair out of Will’s eyes, soft and vulnerable. He longed to take the boy inside and hold him on what must be a long, leather couch on carpeted floors, situated behind a coffee table in front of a platinum TV, in a lavish home with 2-and-a-half baths and a happy, nuclear family with an upstairs and a basement and damn, this house on Pike in the Roseville neighborhood was the American wet dream. But Warren knew he could never take Will over that pristine welcome mat, through that big red door, into the glamorous foyer of that beautiful tudor home. Because it wasn’t his. 

 

So Warren walked away with the excuse of going in the back door, and hid behind the house until he saw Will fly away. Thus, he proceeded to walk en route to his own residence, three miles away in inner-city Maxville, the primary target of all things villainous, where living conditions were barely legal, but rent was dirt cheap. Perfect for a teen who’s lived alone since eighth grade, when his mom left the house for the first time in the six years since his dad went to prison, dragged out by “superhuman medical experts” who deemed her more fitting as a patient in an asylum than as the mother of her child. And, as child protective services generally don’t deal with tweens who can burst into flames on command, he was left there, funded by his dad’s stolen savings the authorities never found, sustained by a diet of Chinese food (and, later, vodka and, even later, weed from the asshole next door that either didn’t care that he was 15 or was too damn high to notice) until he got so familiar with the staff at The Paper Lantern that they kind of took him in as their own. It wasn’t even close to a family, and they worked him to death and yelled at him for almost everything, but they gave him a job when he was far too young to have a job, which gave him something to do other than drink himself into a coma, and they’d notice if he died before the landlord came to collect rent. For a boy who had nothing, it was something. 

Unlike Will, Warren came into his powers at a remarkably young age.  Before he could walk, young Warren Peace was bursting uncontrollably into flames. To call him a “problem child” would be the understatement of the century. They diagnosed his mother with postpartum depression, but in hindsight Warren knew it was something far beyond the understanding of human psychiatry. It was an illness unique to Fiona Peace, concocted specifically for a woman who fell hopelessly in love with a villain like Baron Battle. 

There’s much speculation as to the Mysterious Conception of Warren Peace. Rumor has it Battle brainwashed Fiona, leading to the unfortunate birth of the  _ abominable _ half-breed villain. Others call it Stockholm Syndrome, saying he kidnapped her and manipulated her into falling in a twisted imitation of love. 

The fact of the matter was that she was simply in love with the man. With the power of air manipulation, Fiona was a perfect parallel for Baron. The fire he set, she could put out. The dynamic of their relationship was not dissimilar. His hotheaded personality was soothed by the aerokinetic’s cooling energy. Only she saw past the fiery facade of her Barry. In high school, Baron had his sweetheart convinced they’d be fighting evil side-by-side. Together, they dominated in gym class, saving the citizen time and time again. Though everyone knew the man was destined for evil, Fi was stubbornly committed to prove everyone wrong. Her stubbornness blinded her, and as soon as they were married, too soon after high school, Baron Battle began plotting the demise of Maxville. 

Warren doesn’t know if his father ever truly loved his wife. He recalls sitting at the foot of his mother’s bed as she lay, immobile, telling him stories of their fantastical romance, but he knew, even then, that it was all based in delusion. At ten years old, he’d humor her and listen intently to her fairytales, pieces picked and chosen from Disney princess movies, Fiona as the beautiful damsel and Baron as the knight in shining armor.  _ Such a hero _ , she’d reminisce.  _ My hero, Baron Battle.  _ Bullshit. 

Whether he loved her or not, Warren knew that Baron was manipulating Fiona. After spending so many years wondering what his goal could’ve been, it came to him. Fiona was never the endgame for Baron Battle. It was Warren. 

Born of air and fire, the perfect balance of peace and war, Baron Battle used Fiona Peace to conceive not a child, but a weapon. 

For years, Warren assumed to know his place in this world. He was destined for villainy, a fate he could never avoid. But there was always a feeling inside him-- a lightness that chilled his spine and boiled his blood. He suppressed it, trapped in the maximum security prison of his ribcage, and resigned himself to a life of moral corruption. 

That is, until the first day of his sophomore year, when none other than the son of the man who put his father in jail came stumbling into his life. Everyone assumed that he fought Will in defense of his father, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Warren was never angry about what The Commander did to Baron Battle; he was angry about what he did to Fiona Peace. Leaving her broken and terrified to leave her home, ultimately ending up trapped in an asylum to rot, Battle’s conviction took Warren’s mother away from him. With nowhere to direct his rage, he targeted the Stronghold family. 

It all came to a head after homecoming, when they worked together to defeat Royal Pain. As he sought to defend the school, not to destroy it, he uncovered that lightness he had tried so hard to suppress. And it felt damn good. Better than any high he could ever find at the bottom of a shot glass or at the end of a blunt. It was the thing he’d been seeking in himself for his entire life. Will Stronghold was that high, and he became addicted to him. 

As they became best friends, Warren felt his resolve slipping fast, and it scared the shit out of him. Will was the one person in the entire school who saw the good in him. He stubbornly believed that the hotheaded pyrokinetic teen could become a hero despite his nature. They were the perfect balance of peace and war. Warren knew this story. He’d heard it time and time again at the foot of his mother’s bed as she lay, ruined, because she saw a hero when she looked at a villian. 

Warren was convinced he’d ruin Will. But he couldn’t fucking stop.  


	8. The Greatest Super Hero Love Story Ever Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's parents find out his Big Gay Secret and it's.... really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: homophobic parents. My characterization of the Strongholds may be controversial. I don't even know how I feel about it.

Will was conflicted as he flew home from Warren’s place. In one day, they had gone from not speaking, to confessing love, to holding hands, to fear, abuse, back to fear, to hurt and comfort and back to not speaking. Things with Layla had been so easy. As soon as they kissed once they started dating. Will was under the impression that this was the way it always went down: you confess your feelings, and if they’re mutual, it just falls together after that. Things with Warren were vastly different. 

First of all, there was the Gay Thing. Will’s parents were traditional. Devout defenders of The American Way, he doubted Josie and Steve Stronghold would look too kindly on their son taking it up the ass. He was expected to be the greatest superhero that ever lived-- the epitome of manhood. Society’s perception of homosexuality didn’t exactly fit that mould, and his proud parents were nothing if not loyal to their image. The wholesome reputation of The Stronghold Three was to be protected at all cost. Will’s gayness was an inconvenience to them, and he knew it would not be tolerated. If they ever found out his secret, Will knew it would go one of three ways: a) they ignore it and demand he suppresses his “unnatural” urges, b) the kick him out of the house, or c) they tear his boyfriend (?) limb from limb. Who knows, maybe they’d mix it up and do all three. 

However, something told Will that even if they were straight, a relationship with Warren Peace could never be easy. He knew that the boy had so much love to give, but he was far from practiced in the art of giving it. There was a pattern in Warren’s behavior that Will had been seeing long before the idea of a relationship was ever planted in his mind. He’d reach out a little, demonstrate a level of trust or comfort in their friendship, and then pull back as soon as he had time to internalize his insecurities. Will noticed this for the first time on one of their frequent movie nights in the summer when his parents weren’t home. Warren would always situate himself on the couch right next to Will, letting himself sort of melt into the closeness as they sat in the comfortable darkness. Sometimes, Will would catch the taller boy looking at him, staring intently at the colored lights changing on his skin as they reflected off the action flick on the big screen in front of them. But if they made eye contact for even a second, Warren would clear his throat and look away, tensing up and distancing himself. If he was feeling particularly daring, sometimes Will would test the waters, curling cozily up against Warren’s side. Most times, the older boy would tense up at this, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but Will would just hum contentedly with his cheek pressed against Warren’s flexed muscle until he relented and let himself be cuddled. On rare days when Warren’s guard was down, he’d relax into the touch. Last month, he even put his arm around the younger boy; that was a real victory for Will. It didn’t last, though. Once they reached a scene that displayed even a semblance of romance, Warren stood up uncomfortably and left the room with the excuse of getting a drink. When he came back with a cool bottle of root beer in each sweaty fist, he tossed one to Will with feigned nonchalance and plopped himself down on the complete other side of the couch. Disappointed, but knowing his friend was a bomb so easily set off, Will didn’t press it any further. Such was the majority of their friendship-- close and then distant, hot and then cold. 

Will got home to an empty house, lucky not to have to face his undoubtedly furious parents. He went straight up to his room and set out to draft a text to Warren. He typed:

_ Hey W. We okay?   _

Not enough. 

_ Look, I really like you.  _

Nope. 

_ Look, I love you.  _

Ugh. 

_ Can we talk?  _

_ Call me.  _

As he deleted and recomposed what must’ve been his hundredth text, he heard a tap on his window, and unlatched the lock to let Layla slip inside. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, settling down on the bed beside him, “you disappeared after 6th period.”

“Yeah… War and I kind of  _ ditched _ ,” he admitted. Layla was ecstatic to see the blush in his cheeks. 

“How scandalous!” she mocked, “you make out in the janitor’s closet or something?” 

“Layla!” 

“Well?” 

“No! We… uh… we just like… talked.” 

“Yeah, right,” she rolled her eyes in disbelief. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“Aw!” Layla cooed, genuinely enthusiastic. 

“But… it’s weird. I don’t know. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I’m an asshole, sorry,” he stuttered. 

“Come on,” she pleaded, “we’re still best friends, Will. You  _ have _ to tell me all your boy melodrama.” 

So he told her everything. From the essay, to the outburst in detention, to the half-assed reconciliation in front of his house. He begged for advice, but even the girl with all the answers didn’t know how to deal with an enigma like Warren Peace. When he had exhausted Layla’s capacity to help, they facetimed Magenta, hoping she could tell it like it is.

“Maj,” he started, “I, uh, kind of need advice… but you can’t tell any of the boys, okay?”

“Goddamnit, Will. Just fucking kiss him.”    

“W-what?” Will could feel himself looking like a deer in the headlights. 

“You’re not subtle, man. Even before Ethics and ditching class and all that bullshit, I mean, fuck.”

“Does everyone know?”

“No, don’t worry. Somehow, everyone’s as oblivious as you are. I don’t know how long you have until they figure it out, though. That was some grand romantic gesture today. I didn’t know Warren had the balls.” 

“Great. Everyone’s gonna know I’m...” he faltered, unable to even say the word--

“Gay? So what? Who gives a shit what they think? You’re Will-fucking-Stronghold and Warren-fucking-Peace. You’re like, the most powerful people at Sky High. Greatest super hero love story ever told. Who’s gonna mess with that?” 

“My dad?” Will’s somber tone silenced her. There wasn’t much she could say to that. “He’ll kick me out. Or worse.” 

“You don’t know that,” Layla contributed. 

“Yes, I do.” He sighed. “But I don’t even know if I care anymore.” 

“Really?” the girls asked in unison. 

“Yeah. I dunno. Lately, I can’t find it in me to care about anything. Except… him.” A coo from Layla, an affectionate eye-roll from Maj.

“So, what do you  _ want? _ ” pried Magenta. 

“I don’t  _ know! _ I want to kiss him! To be his... boyfriend… partner… something. Just...  _ his _ . But he’s so weird. It’s like, one minute he’s in love with me and then he’s so detached and then… God, you should’ve seen him in detention today! The things he said, the way he looked at me… it scared the shit out of me. Why is this so hard? I love him. He loves me.” Then, to Layla, “Why can’t it be like you and me were? It was easy!”

“Yeah, plenty easy for you. You never loved me.” 

“Layl, I--” 

“No, it’s not like that. I’m not complaining; I’m just saying. Of course it was easy. It wasn’t love. Love isn’t easy.” 

Dropping Layla’s phone face up on the bed so that Magenta’s screen showed nothing but the ceiling, Will’s head fell into his hands. “Why can’t it be?” he whined. 

Distantly, he heard his father call his name up the stairs.

“That’s my cue. Later, Maj. Good luck, Will,” ruffling the boy’s hair, Layla hung up her phone and slipped back out the window, descending the brick building down a tree she conjured beneath her. 

“Will!” he heard again, more angrily this time. Squeezing his eyes closed to fight back the tears, Will walked slowly toward his bedroom door to face the consequences of ditching class. 

 

He walked down the stairs, confronted by the costumed Steve and Josie Stronghold, standing angrily as a fierce and united front. 

“Ditching class, Will?” Josie implored, “you know better than that.” 

“Sure, _ he _ does,” provided Steve, “it’s that Battle kid. Bad fucking influence.” 

“Peace. His name’s Peace. And it was my decision, not his.” 

“Well then it’s a good thing you’re the one we’re grounding. No TV, no phone, no Xbox. One month,” demanded Josie. 

“And you won’t be seeing that Peace boy again, either.” 

“That’s not fair!”

“He’s a bad influence on you. End of discussion.” 

“No! You can’t take him away from me, that’s not fair!” Will knew that his sobs were giving away his secret, but he couldn’t contain them. He pleaded to his mother with his teary eyes, but he could see the disappointment in her stare. She was speechless. 

“I knew it,” muttered Steve. Then, louder, “I fucking knew it! Goddamnit, Josie, Baron Battle’s son turned our boy into a fucking faggot!” he laughed maniacally at the irony. 

“He didn’t turn me into anything! Dad,  _ mom, _ I’m…”

“Don’t,” Josie interrupted, soft and broken. Will could hardly recognize her crying face as she distanced herself from him. “Don’t you dare.”

“As long as you are living under my roof, you will never see that boy again. You will find a nice girl with powers, Layla, someone else, I don’t care. You’ll marry her. You’ll have kids with powers and you will carry on the Stronghold name, so help me God. Do you understand?” 

Will was sobbing in earnest, his face red, his voice breaking as he cried, “I can’t. I’m not… I’m not wired that way.” 

“Not wired that way, my _ ass _ ! You’re confused. That boy-- oh, I’m going to kill him-- he’s brainwashed you.” 

“You were a good boy before you met him,” Josie contributed, “we can get that back!” 

“He has done nothing but love me, Mom! I’m in love with him. Why can’t you see that?” 

“You don’t know what love is. You’re just a kid.” 

“I know love what love is. Warren taught me what love is. You’ll see. You’ll all see. Warren Peace and Will Stronghold. The greatest super hero love story ever told.” 

“You are no Stronghold.” 

“Steve,” Josie sought to console her husband.

“No!” he lashed out. “ _ That, _ ” he pointed, “is not my son.” 

“Dad--”

__ The Commander turned his back to Will. “You have 10 minutes to pack your things and get the  **fuck out of my house** .”

“Please, Dad!” 

“Say one more word to me and I will throw you out with nothing but the clothes on your back. Understood?” Will simply nodded. “Good. Now, get  **out of my sight!** ” he screamed.  Will ran upstairs. 

The last Josie and Steve saw of him was ten minutes later, just a glimpse through the window of a boy and his suitcase, flying away, never to return. 


	9. Steve Stronghold is a Fucking Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cute flirty boy stuff and then homophobic dad drama

Stronghold flew around in circles for a while, trying to will the tears in his eyes to dry. But even as the harsh wind beat against face, his sobs were relentless. He had plenty of friends he could turn to, ones with loving and accepting parents who’d take him in in a heartbeat, but Will never even considered going anywhere but 237 Pike Street. He didn’t know what to expect when he got there. All he really wanted was to be held, or maybe kissed, but he’d settle just to see his best friend’s face. What he truly could never have expected, though, was to be greeted by a confused adult man when he rang the doorbell. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked politely, though clearly flustered. With a toddler clung to his ankle, a crying baby in his arm, and a girl around ten years old throwing a temper tantrum in the living room, he was understandably disinclined to deal with a sniffling teen at his doorstep. 

“Um, is this...” Will didn’t even know what to ask, as it became abundantly clear that this was not Warren’s home. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong address. You wouldn’t happen to be able to direct me to the Peace residence? Fiona and Warren Peace?” 

“Peace? Sorry, kid. I know just about everyone on this street. Ain’t no Peace family on Pike.” 

“Well, uh,” Will stumbled, “have you seen this boy around, then? I really gotta find him,” he flashed the lock screen on his phone, a fanned handful of photo strips of silly shots of himself and his friends from the photobooth at the movie theater, including a few the only pictures Warren would ever allow to be taken on him. Will was enamored with the strip of him and Warren; it had been on his lock screen ever since it was taken. He particularly adored the last shot-- a candid of the two of them laughing together. His eyes are squeezed shut in hysterical giggling, but not Warren’s. His eyes scrunched up, laugh lines deepening and dimples flashing, Warren is looking directly at Will as he smiles, bright and genuine and absolutely breathtaking. Will is convinced there is nothing in the world more astonishing than his best friend’s smile. 

“Oh, him?” the man’s face fell, disapproval and disgust in his grimace. “Yeah, ‘e gets on and off the school bus in front of my house. Always smoking pot in my backyard and then splitting.  No idea where he comes from.” 

_ Pot?  _ questioned Will briefly, though unsure if he should be surprised.

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, sorry for… er… interrupting,” Will turned and started to walk away. 

“If you find that prick,” the man called after him, “tell him to stay the hell off my property!” 

 

Once he was satisfied with the distance he’d put between himself and the house on Pike street, Will took off in flight toward The Paper Lantern. He didn’t know what he’d say when he confronted Warren. He didn’t know if he’d be angry that he lied, understanding of his embarrassment, or disappointed in himself for making Warren feel that he needed to be embarrassed. He didn’t care where Warren lived. At this point, he just felt fucking inconvenienced by the lie, because he need his best friend and he wasn’t there. He’s supposed to be there for him  _ always _ , goddamnit. 

He decided he shouldn’t press about Warren’s address. Though the older boy liked to hide it, Will was well aware that he was insecure about his family, and he understood if there were things he’d prefer to keep secret. It just sucked being totally and fully vulnerable to someone being shut out like that. Warren should know there is nothing in this world that Will would judge him for. 

His angst was palpable as he walked into the restaurant with a suitcase in tow. Recognizing him from all the time he spent bugging Warren, the hostess directed him to a seat close to the kitchen where she knew he’d be sliding in and out. She didn’t ask about the duffel bag, just brought him his usual Dr. Pepper and alerted Warren of his presence. It was nearly 20 minutes before anyone besides the hostess acknowledged him, they all knew he never ordered anything, just came to spend time with the busboy. Pressing a kiss to the top of Will’s forehead, Warren slid a hot plate of chicken tenders and fries in front of him and sat down in the booth across from him.

“They have chicken tenders here? This is a Chinese restaurant.”

“Kids’ menu. God bless America.” 

“A man after my own heart,” he smiled softly. Warren shrugged, smiling too. 

Warren’s boss yelled at him in Cantonese. Will assumed she was telling him to get back to work, but he ignored her. 

“So, hero, what brings you here? ‘Cause I know it ain’t the chicken tenders.” 

“Nowhere else to go,” Will answered, looking down at the duffel bag next to him. 

“What happened?” pried Warren with a raging urgency. 

“The Commander and Jetstream won’t have a  _ fucking faggot  _ under their roof,” Will said distantly. “Can I stay with you?” Warren’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. He’d never turn away his love in a time of need, but he knew that meant revealing where he lived, which scared him to his very core. “I don’t care where you live, Warren.”

_ Fuck, _ thought Warren.  _ So that cat’s out of the bag. _

“So it’s not on Pike street. I mean, are you…” Will’s voice lowered, “homeless?”

“What? No! I’m not homeless.”

“Yeah, well. I am, so.”  

“I’m gonna fucking kill your dad.” 

“I wish. But it’s not worth it. Everyone will think we’re the villains for coming after their precious Commander.” 

“I want him to pay for hurting you.” 

“Me too. Trust me, I’ve played every revenge scheme out in my head. Everything. Murder, torture, blackmail, sex tape, everything.”

“Sex tape?” 

“That’s my favorite. Son of the Commander and Jetstream loves it up the ass for Baron Battle’s boy. Hell of a tabloid headline.” 

“Christ, baby boy,” Warren breathed in disbelief. Will just laughed, blushing at the term of endearment. 

“So, can I stay with you?” 

“Yeah, kiddo. But no sex tapes.” 

“Fine. I won’t leak any of our sex tapes in revenge against my father.”

“That’s not what I said.” 

“That’s all I can promise.” Warren shook his head, laughing. 

“I haven’t even kissed you yet.” 

“We’re gonna rectify that tonight,” Will asserted. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. We’re gonna rectify a lot of things tonight,” he winked. 

“You’re impossible.”  

“Actually, I’m incredibly easy.”

“Just so you know, wordplay is like, the least sexy thing in the whole world.”

“Yeah? What kind of play  _ do  _ you like?”

“I hate you. I’m gonna go try to get off early to take you home,” he got up to go back into the kitchen, kissing the top of Will’s head once again. It was uncharacteristic of the brooding pyrokinetic, but Will could definitely get used to the shiver it sent down his spine. 

“Don’t get off  _ too _ early.”

“You are never, ever getting in my pants.”

Will frowned sarcastically, then stuck his tongue out. 

 

“I can fly us,” said Will, as they were walking out of the restaurant. 

“Nah, it’s not far. Want me to carry your bag?”

“While the chivalry’s cute and all, I think I can handle it,” he said, lifting the duffel by the tip of his pinkie finger with great ease. 

“Showoff.” Will hummed with a cocky grin, dropping the bag to pick Warren up by his hips instead. Warren kicked his legs, “I get it, you’re strong, Captain America. Put me down.” Will placed him down right in front of him, so close they were nearly pressed together. Warren took the opportunity to leave a peck on the younger boy’s jaw, picking up his duffel back with one hand (also with great ease, he was no Stronghold, but his hold was still damn strong), and grasping Will’s hand in the other. 

 

When they entered Warren’s hallway in his apartment building in Downtown Maxville, they noticed right away that someone had gotten there before them. The cracks in the drywall around the door-- or the vague door-shaped hole where the door should’ve been, but wasn’t--- made it crystal clear who it was. 

“Get the fuck away from my son,” a large, dark figure yelled, lunging toward Warren as they walked through the doorway. Will stepped between the blazing pair, using all his weight to keep them apart. 

“What are you gonna do,  _ Commander _ ?” the sarcastic honorific stung coming from his only son’s mouth.

“I’m gonna kill the bastard who turned my son into a  _ fag _ !” Will laughed at that, malice palpable in his hot breath, his lips curled in a sardonic smirk. 

“Yeah?” There was a darkness is his countenance neither Warren nor Steve had ever seen, as if his father had flipped a switch inside him, evacuating all the softness from his face. “And then what?” There was no reply, save for a shallow exhale. Will continued, “here’s how I see it. You come at him. Throw him through the walls and make a damn scene in the middle of downtown fucking Maxville. You bruise him, break his bones, hell, you could kill him, couldn’t you? No sweat off your back. But the media’s eyes are on you. The whole world will watch as their high and mighty greatest-hero-who-ever-lives beats up a gay teenager. WXYS would have a field day with that, wouldn’t they? _ ”  _

Still no reply. Will distances himself from his father, pacing toward Warren, who is fighting with himself to maintain a tough facade, though he knows his skills are no match for the man who took down his father. 

“And that’s just assuming you’d win. Honestly, I don’t know that you would. ‘Cause my boy here is  _ real _ powerful,” Will smiled fondly. “What if he fights back? Throws fire, defends himself? You know how that ends? Huh? The whole building burns down. People  _ die _ .”

“‘Cause he’s a fucking villain!” Steve spits. Will softens, lacing his fingers into Warren’s and giving a comforting squeeze. 

“No. He’s not,” he looked directly at Warren as he said, “Warren Peace is the greatest hero that ever lived.” He turned back to his dad. “But if he defends himself against you, everyone will believe that he’s the bad guy. And people will die because you’re more concerned with looking like a hero than actually being one.” 

“But his father--” 

“He is  **not** his father. If we all turn out exactly like our fathers, I guess I’m doomed to be a villain, too.” 

“I am not a villain!” 

“Then fucking prove it. Do the heroic thing. Leave, and don’t ever come back.”  

“What’ll you do, then? Gonna be his kept-boy? Who’s gonna pay your phone bill? Buy you clothes, food, a fucking Xbox? You wouldn’t last a day in this slum, brat.” 

“There is far more for me here then your money could ever buy.” 

“Yeah? Who’s paying for your tuition?” 

Will laughed that same wicked laugh. “Well, that depends. You could,” he suggested. 

“Yeah fuckin’ right.”

“Hm. Or, I could drop out. I wonder what we’ll tell them when they ask, ‘whatever happened to the Stronghold boy?’”

The Commander fumed, speechless. 

“So what’ll it be?” 

He looked down, embarrassed to be blackmailed by his son, but without a choice. 

“You will not breathe a word of this,” Steve relented. “No one can ever know that--”

“That what?” interrupted Will boldly, “that you kicked your only son out on the street, you callous dick? Or that your cocksucker son is in love with Warren Peace?” The Commander spat at the boy’s feet. 

“As far as anyone is concerned, you still live with us. What filth you get up to otherwise, that’s none of my business. As long as you keep this… gay thing... up, I don’t want anything to do with you.” 

“Good.”

“Good.”

Warren broke the following pause as he contributed for the first time, “now get the fuck out of  _ our _ home.” 


	10. Will and Warren say the B word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it gets fluffy before it gets angsty again

**** As soon as the Commander was out of his sight, Will’s bold and brave face fell as he started to cry. Quickly thereafter, his knees gave out under the weight of his angst and he slid to the floor, cradling his watering eyes in the palms of his hands. Summoning his most gentle demeanor, Warren knelt beside the limp and devastated body and wrapped his arms around the younger boy. Immediately, Will moved to fit his face in the warm, familiar crook of Warren’s neck, and broke into sobs that now consumed his entire body.

“I got you, baby boy. You are so strong. No one can hurt my best friend.” At that, Will cried noticeably harder, causing Warren to panic. “What did I say?” 

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Tell me.”

“I just… ugh, don’t you get it? I don’t want to be  _ just _ your best friend!” 

“ _ Just _ my best friend? Will, I don’t know how these things usually work, but when I call you my best friend-- when I  _ get _ to call you my best friend-- that is the greatest privilege imaginable. You never were  _ just  _ my best friend. You’re… you’re my everything. My best friend, my brother, my hero, my role model, my…” 

“...Boyfriend?” Will interrupted, startling Warren, who bit his lip. “I mean, uh,” Will panicked, “unless, uh, you don’t want to… ‘cause that’s fine, too, I guess…” Hesitant, Warren replied: 

“I just,” he exhaled with his eyes closed, contemplating, “I don’t know how to be someone’s... boyfriend.” 

“I guess we’ll have to figure that out together, huh?” Will smiled sweetly, and Warren softened. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Cradling Will’s jaw in his hand, Warren wiped a tear from Will’s undereye with his thumb. Gently, careful to leave space for Will to back out if he was misreading the cues, Warren tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips to meet the other’s. Will was stunned; his lips hung barely parted as Warren lingered there holding him close. Though Warren’s eyes were tightly closed, Will’s stayed unblinking in an expression that even he himself couldn’t decipher-- shock, nerves, and longing blurred together in a confusing and intoxicating blend.  Warren pulled back his lips and pressed his forehead to Will’s.

“D- do that again,” Will whispered abashedly. With a shred more certainty, Warren leaned in again to kiss Will. This time, at long last, the shorter boy returned the affection enthusiastically, threading his fingers through long dark hair and pressing his body as close at it could get. With that, Warren broke down laughing in the crook of Will’s neck, his breath hot against one ear as his teeth pressed gently into Will’s flesh. Humiliated, Will asked, 

“Am I doing it wrong?” Still laughing, Warren moved to press another chaste kiss to Will’s lips. 

“No, not at all. I’m just… really happy.” At that, Will started laughing as well. 

“Yeah, War. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are sensitive to material referencing depression or mental illness, this might be a good place to stop reading


	11. I Don't Know It's Pretty Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it gets angsty before it gets fluffy again

“Maybe we should like… move to your room? Is your mom gonna get home soon?” Will asked. 

“Um, about that--”

“Oh yeah we should probably figure out how to fix the door, right?”

“Will...” 

“She can’t be too happy about that. It happens a lot at my house; my mom’s always--” 

“Will.”

Stronghold stopped rambling to look up at Warren, whose eyes could barely connect with his. Instead, the older boy looked past his new boyfriend with sad, drooping lids, biting his lip in contemplation.  

“Warren?” 

“My mom doesn’t live here.” 

“Oh,” Will had so many questions, but he had learned throughout their friendship that it was better not to ask. In truth, he knew very little about Warren’s backstory, only what he’d learned from his gossipy clan on that very first day at Sky High, but Warren has a tendency to shut down when confronted about it, so instead of asking, Will simply said,“okay.” 

Unlike all the times before, however, Warren allowed himself to be vulnerable. “She, uh,” he started, “she hasn’t lived here in a long damn time.” 

“You don’t have to--”

“No, Will. I do.” He pressed his lips tightly in a line, unsure where even to begin. Will reached out to hold his hand in solidarity, and he unfolded. 

“When I was in sixth grade,” he started, then shook his head. He clarified, “when my dad… left… my mom fell apart. There were a few days, in the beginning, where she’d go out. She’d drop me off at school, go to the grocery store, whatever. Places where no one knew her or her husband. But she always had this… intuition, I guess… that they were staring at her, judging her for what  _ he _ had done. She was so paranoid. So, she stopped leaving. 

“For a couple of months she was really, I guess you could say, active? She was exercising, paying so much attention to me, and cooking so much. She would send me to the grocery store every day and make me buy the craziest ingredients. Every night was something new and exotic she found on the TV. I mean, for an eleven year old, it was paradise. I was so happy, I felt like I had everything I could’ve wished for without him in the picture. But over time, things started to change. It was a little bit at a time, really, but soon she didn’t have the energy to cook, or clean, or later, even get out of bed. By seventh grade I was doing everything for myself, and just trying to keep her alive. At night, she’d stare at the ceiling with this… this blank expression… and she’d tell me stories about  _ him. _ Every night it was the same damn thing; he was the hero and she was the damsel in distress. For a year and a half I watched her die slowly inside and there was nothing I could do to fix her.” Warren’s voice trailed off and Will thought that was the end of it. He kissed the hand that was now limp in his palm and whispered,

“I am so, so sorry, Warren,” and as Will Stronghold is wont to put his foot in his mouth, he asked, “you saw her die?” The question seemed to startle Warren out of his haze. 

“What? No, I wish,” he said with a perplexing nonchalance, then settled back into his empty stare and continued as if he’d never paused: 

“The men who took my dad, one of them gave me a phone number. He said to call, in case something happens. I didn’t know what that meant. When I showed it to my mom, she told me to get rid of it. 

“‘There’s nothing to worry about, sweetie.’ 

“I kept it anyway. When things started to get bad with her, I asked if I should call the number. Even at her emptiest, her most expressionless days, I saw her face fall and she’d tell me,

“‘It’s okay, don’t call that number.’

“As she got worse and worse, it was always, 

“‘It’s okay, don’t call that number.’

“One day, I couldn’t get her to move at all. She was alive, and awake, maybe, but she wasn’t  _ there _ . I asked her to tell me about my dad, and nothing. I told her I was going to call the men and they’d help her, and nothing, no, ‘it’s okay, don’t call that number.’ So, I called. I did the one thing she told me never to do because there was nothing else, Will, there was  _ nothing else _ .”

Warren was sobbing now, his formerly unmoving hand squeezing Will’s fingers, too hot and tight for any mortal to stand without breaking or burning, but neither boy noticed. 

“When they came,” Warren continued, staring through foggy and unblinking eyes, “they wouldn’t tell me anything. Not where she was going, if she’d come back. I overheard the word ‘headquarters’ thrown around but nothing substantial. I don’t know who they were, who they worked for, good or bad, I have no idea. That was almost 5 years ago. I waited, everyday for something but I haven’t heard from anyone since.” 

“We could--” Will started, always trying to help, but Warren’s eyes turned dark as he interrupted,

“I gave up a long damn time ago, Will. She’s dead, or worse, and it’s  _ my _ fault.” 

“You didn’t know. You tried to help, you…”

“Yeah,” he answered, absently, “I tried to help, and I made it worse.” Hysterical now, he pulled his hand from Will’s grasp. “Don’t you get it, _ Stronghold _ ?” The name, most often used with warm regard now stung like a curse as he balled the bottom hem of Will’s tee shirt in his fist. “Your dad was right. I’m a villain. I was born to be a weapon, I destroy everything I touch,” as if to prove his own point, as he exclaimed, he expelled fire from his fingertips and set Will’s clothing ablaze. As the flickering flame reflected in his widening eyes he reached out to quell the fire with open palms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the apology written clearly on his face.

To Warren’s surprise, Will only smiled excitedly. 

“You can put out fires with your hands, too?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Warren answered, looking down at his own hands, “I don’t have a lot of practice with it.” 

“Dude, that’s  _ so rad _ !” Will’s dog-like excitability managed to make Warren smile, if only for an instant. “I mean, the firebending is sexy as fuck but man, that’s like, so heroic! You know how much you can do with that? Warren, buddy, I love you, and I hear you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about with this villain shit. Yeah, your dad might’ve been a villain but look at mine! He’s the quote-unquote ‘greatest hero alive’ and he’s a homophobic asshole! So who says you have to be what the world thinks you are?” 

“My mom went  _ crazy,  _ like, literally insane, because she looked at a man who the world knew was a villain, and believed he was a hero. Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Despite himself, Will looked at Warren like he’d just admitted the sky was green. “Okay, sure. It sounds pretty similar. But you know the difference? The world _ knew _ Baron Battle, and  _ that’s _ why they saw a villain. All those dumbasses at school who think you’re a villain? They don’t know you at all. They refuse to know you. And honestly, babe? You refuse to let them know you. But the people who do know you? Me, Layla, Zach, Maj, Ethan, our teachers, Principal Powers--  _ they _ all know you’re a hero. And the fact that you even give a shit about whether or not you hurt me? That just  _ proves _ it.” 

“I love you so much, Will.” 

“That proves it, too.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't cry because it's over; cry because it's sad


End file.
